


Sweet and Silent

by AllLoveIsEqual



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, BoyxBoy, Disability, Gay, High School, M/M, Mute - Freeform, Punk, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllLoveIsEqual/pseuds/AllLoveIsEqual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a horrible past, Liam has now moved, alongside his mother, to a seaside village. He's been traumatised and is now Mute. They're both trying to rebuild their life in the village but when a new guy joins Liam's school, he's going to have to be more careful, or he can take down his walls and take a chance. Can Zayn fix him? Or will he only worsen the situation?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I’ve never been one to believe in love: love only hurts you; it only brings pain and fills you with false-hope. Well, there was a time when I believed in such a thing. A time when I dreamed of falling in love and running off into the sunset, ignoring everyone, being rebellious, and doing whatever we thought was right. But that time is now lost in the shadows of my past, impossible to reclaim.   
It was when I was only ten years old. My Dad and Mum never used to fight a lot, but once my Dad started going out on late nights and returning home completely inebriated, that’s when the arguments started. He would always smash things when he gets home: he broke the TV once, he threw my Mum’s phone at it, breaking both gadgets. Ostensibly, my mum was talking to another guy on her phone and Dad just wanted to look at her messages. She refused and started questioning his trust towards her. So, my Dad got aggravated and threw her phone at the TV. She spent that evening crying, locked in her room while my Dad remained downstairs, screaming and yelling. I could remember the incessant sound of glass breaking and crashing followed by howls of pain that resonated from my Dad. No one bothered to check on him though, and soon enough the house would fall in complete silence.   
This would happen on a daily basis. My mum would spend the majority of the day crying, in fear of what that night would bring; we began to live in a nightmare – and there was no way of breaking free.   
One night, Mum and I were on the kitchen preparing dinner. We were happily talking about School and how my grades were finally getting better. It was good, you know, we were feeling happy for once and there was no fear. She was a wonderful Mum: she would always have the biggest smile on her face that constantly radiated comfort in the house; I always told myself that I’d be fine if she was smiling. And she would always have these adorable laugh-lines that showed when she smiled, it was always made me smile whenever I saw it. Her blonde hair was always let down loose, she would only tie it up if she was cooking or cleaning. I guess I got my smile from her, too. It never failed to flaunt her perfect set of white teeth.   
Lately, though, she began to look wearier: her eyes were always puffy and red-rimmed and she would always have bags under it, dragging it down a bit. Her laugh-lines soon became stress-lines and she would hardly smile. She also took up smoking which demolished her white teeth and made them more grim looking: yellowy and darker. She started this bad habit at the same time my Dad became a belligerent alcoholic.   
We had just finished cooking the Bolognese sauce for the pasta, Mum had made a comment about my cooking skills, praising me for my ability to cook. I shrugged it off and began pouring the sauce into a serving bowl. Mum began boiling the water for the pasta to cook in. Although she was smiling, her eyes, which had an intense emotion of sorrow, reminded me that she wasn’t alright. I always did my best to make her happy: I’d always tell her jokes and she would laugh, I’d tell her about my grades and she would smile but these feelings of comfort were only temporary and fear and sorrow would soon chase them away.  
It was then that we heard the slamming of the front door. I, immediately, turned towards my Mum and frowned at the expression her face held: it contorted to one of pure shock and horror. Her eyes seemed lost and her mouth was agape, her hand stopped pouring the pasta into the boiling water, some of it poured onto the stove and the floor due to lack of focus, and she looked like a terrified mannequin; completely frozen.   
It was my Dad’s angry voice that snapped her back into reality. Her eyes were now brimmed with tears and her hands began to palpitate furiously. She had no idea what she was doing; she would pace around the kitchen looking completely lost. Then my Dad barged through the kitchen doors with such force that it came off its hinges. He saw her in her state of fear and laughed. I told him it wasn’t funny and to leave us alone but that exacerbated the situation and he came charging at me. He grabbed hold of my neck with one hand, preventing my ability to breathe. I squirmed in his tenacious grip, kicking my feet against his knee to break free but he remained undeterred and only grabbed on tighter. The lack of oxygen in my body made me feel light headed and soon the light in the room dimmed; everything soon became darker and my eyes began to flutter. I could barely hear the screams of my mother in the corner of the kitchen. But just as everything fell into complete darkness I was thrown across the room and skidded along the floor, the burning sensation it ignited on my legs was enough to make me open my eyes and scream in pain, I began to breath heavily, feeding my suffocated lungs with the oxygen it desired. My mum came running to my aid, kneeling down beside me and running her hand through my dishevelled hair. My dad gave another malicious laugh before he began an ungainly walk into the living room. In that moment, the same fear my Mum felt was soon present inside me: it was the first time my dad showed signs of hostility towards me and now that he has, I was petrified.   
I discarded the pretence of hope, I knew there was no longer any hope of things getting better. And every day, my Mum and I lived it in complete fear. Only tenuously letting our guard down at the sound of the door closing, signalling my Dad’s departure. We would become more calm and safe when we hear that door close but we were always paranoid: any sound would always make us think that it was the door and we would both flinch on the spot. That door soon became the portal to hell, whenever it opened it would release the devil on us.   
The park that was situated not too far away from us soon became my place of solace. During the day, when my Mum would spend her time locked in her bedroom crying, I’d travel to the park and just lie on the grass. Feeling nature around me evoked a sense of serenity inside of me: the way the wind would blow over the grass creating ripples that radiated towards the playground, where children would play with their friends and be in complete rapture and there would always be a symphony of joyful laughter present in the air, while their loving parents would supervise them, keeping a sharp eye on any signs of danger, like an eagle. The smell of untainted and fresh air that detoxed my body from all its negativity. This place always made me nostalgic: There was a time when I was one of those children, screaming in joy as I slid down the slide, laughing whenever my Dad pushed me on the swing, reaching heights that would silence my laugh and have me holding onto the chains of the swing for dear life. And whenever I fell over, my mum would soon be by my side, kissing my wounds and hushing my cries. There was a time when life was idyllic. But this park represented a dream, a dream inside a nightmare called reality.   
I would return home and find my Mum in the kitchen, cooking another meal – this was her distraction from everything happening. I would offer my help and we would just cherish being in each other’s company because no one else can comprehend the predicament we’re in. It was just us two and that’s all we had. After quickly scoffing down my dinner, I would always lock myself in my room, crying. I had to endure listening to the cries of torment my Mum gave while my Dad would abuse her. It always made my tummy churn and soon I’d be doubled over the bin in my room, throwing up.   
I’ve begged my Mum to call the police several times but she said that if we did then it would only infuriate Dad even further and would cause him to do things that was far too inconceivable. So we abandoned that option. We were helpless.   
But one night changed everything. It would leave a lasting scar on me and would traumatise me forever.   
It was another day spent being in fear – like any other day. Mum became weak and weary and was unable to cook dinner. I decided to cook for her but because there was only one chef, things took a bit longer than anticipated. It wasn’t even a big meal I was preparing: A simple dish of sausages and chips. But nevertheless, by the time Dad returned home, I was still cooking and present in the kitchen – where the horrific events would always unfold. Dad came in, the door was never put back on since he broke it, and upon seeing me there, watching the sausages cook in the oven, he gave an abject smile that sent shivers crashing down my spine. I began to back away from the oven and headed towards my mum, who was sat on one of the chairs by the oak table. He began to walk slowly towards us, his gait was clumsy and unorganised, but that chilling smile remained on his face. I was soon enclosed in my Mother’s protective arms but not even that could withstand the wrath of my intoxicated father and soon I was snatched away from her.   
Then the violence erupted like fireworks, fast and unexpected.   
I was pushed onto the floor, the cold tiles of the kitchen floor rubbing against my thighs, burning it. I winced in pain, cringing away from my father. I tried to hold back the tears that threatened to escape, I couldn’t show weakness in front of him, it would only give him more pleasure. But as his fist came crashing down onto the side of my face, leaving a burning sensation on my left cheek, the tears broke free and I began to sob quietly. Fear was pumping violently through my veins and I could feel sweat starting to form on my forehead. He hunkered down beside me and warned me not to get in the way ever again. I readied myself for another blow: I curled myself into a protective ball and placed my arms above my head. But there wasn’t a following blow.   
Then I heard my mum give a bloodcurdling scream.  
I shot straight up and looked towards the table my mum sat at. He was strangling her on the table top, his face full of vindictive anger and tenacity. I froze on my spot on the floor. My throat became numb and I lost the ability to yell for him to stop. I just stared, and watched. My body was urging me to do something but every time my Dad would avert his cold gaze towards me, my mind malfunctioned. It was then did things take a turn for the worse. My dad grabbed a knife I placed on the table, preparing the table for dinner, and gave me one last satanic look before plunging the cold steel into my mother’s chest. Her screamed pierced the air and overpowered the sadistic laugh that resonated from my Dad.   
But I still remained silent.   
I watched as the material of her shirt soon became damp and crimson from the blood that was profusely escaping her stab wound. My dad retreated from her and walked into the living room as if nothing had happened. She rolled on the table to look at me, her eyes wide in fear, her mouth trying to push words past her lips but nothing came.   
But I remained motionless.  
It was then I heard the sound of the police siren emanating from outside. I heard my dad begin a chain of curses and paced ungainly in the living room, crashing into the coffee table placed in the middle. The police barged through our house door and the colours of red and blue that came from the siren lit up the interior of the house like a Christmas light. They found my Dad in the living room and quickly arrested him, the blood on his shirt was enough evidence for them to take him in. Soon they found me and my mum in the kitchen. An officer took me outside where I watched my dad give me an evil stare as he was forced into the police car. I was still shaking in trepidation from the events that unfolded. The ambulance soon came after, and my Mum was wheeled out the house in a gurney and placed in the ambulance where they whizzed her off to the nearby hospital.   
It was the neighbours, the Smiths, which called the police. Ostensibly, they’ve been hearing the screams every night but it was the scream my Mum gave as she was stabbed that finally drove them into calling the police. They were outside, too. I approached them and gave them a hug. They told me they were sorry they didn’t call the police sooner but it didn’t matter: Mum and I were now safe and free.   
But as I slept that night, in the Police Station, I couldn’t help but replay the images in my mind: The way the murder weapon rose high in the air before crashing down on the delicate skin of my mother’s chest. The way my father’s monstrosity of a laugh echoed through the house. The way I did…nothing.   
That night, I began my self-loathing. I rebuked myself, convincing myself that I could have done something before things got out of hand. I could have said something to get some sort of help. But I didn’t and it was my dear mother who had to pay for the ramifications of my actions.   
So, traumatised by the events, that night was the last time I spoke. I no longer trusted myself and I became broken inside. Words and love were just filled with lies and pain and I promised myself to never put someone through that.   
-  
Now we’re in the present: I’m seventeen years old and living with my Mum, who has managed to recover from everything she’s experienced. I, on the other hand, was diagnosed as a Mute a year after everything that happened. I’ve not spoken a word since. My mum has helped me along the way: she got me a psychiatrist who would ask me things about my past, I would always end up crying after the question and after a moment of silence I would answer her using a pad of paper. It took time to write out my response but she didn’t mind. She endeavoured to understand what was going on, the thing is she just couldn’t. No one can. So consequently, I was removed from her services a year after starting it.   
We moved away from Wolverhampton and into Bewdley, it was a quaint and serene little village that had a river going down the middle of it. There we tried to rebuild our life. Mum got a job as a waitress in a nearby café and I attended school like any ordinary teenagers. It was inevitable I would be bullied and have no friends due to my disability but I didn’t mind: I always found solace in solitude. Although, at times I felt a bit lonely; a friend wouldn’t do me any harm, it’s just that no one wanted to be my friend.   
We lived in a quaint little house. It was made out of bricks and was two stories high. The door was painted a midnight blue colour and two flower baskets hang idly on both sides of the door. The interior was nothing to fancy, neither. The living room was ideal in size; there was enough room for a TV that was placed next to window; a red leathered-sofa that could easily fit 3-4 people on and a sundry of paintings filled the walls: some were of me and my Mum, some were photos of me holding certificates, each one had my name in bold letters: Liam Payne – I excelled in English, maybe because I didn’t speak the words the words became more sincere and vivid in ink – and some were some random paintings of a countryside scenery. The kitchen wasn’t too small neither, there was enough room for a marble counter and a white fridge, there was a stove and oven next to the fridge and a dishwasher was placed under the counter. Next to the kitchen was a tiny laundry room that mainly consisted of a hanging rack and a washing machine. There were three bedrooms upstairs: one for me, one for mum and the other served as a guest room, but sometimes mum would occupy this room to do her ironing. All in all, the house was perfect to starting a new life.   
Dad got what he deserved, he was convicted for attempted murder and jailed for life. Mum and I were pleased when we heard this and celebrated that night by baking a marvellous Victorian sponge cake and which we indulged in later on that evening.   
Everything was going great; I was getting used to being Mute and I was doing great in school. But then something happened: someone wanted to become my friend. But the thing is, this someone was the village punk. My Mum warned me about him on my first day of attending Bewdley College. In fact, even the teachers were wary when he was in their presence.  
Zayn Malik wanted to become my friend… and I was petrified all over again.


	2. Chapter 2

Zayn's POV:  
''And that group over there? With all the leather and studs and stuff?'' I nod toward the group furthest from us, a small but colourful collection of girls with spiked hair and dramatic make up.  
Louis frowns in their direction, putting a piece of pie behind his teeth and chewing thoughtfully. ''That's Amber's little groupie. Emos and weird creepy witch stuff. I would only get involved in them if you want somebody to, I dunno, wish away some kind of trauma in your brain. Most likely a migraine or some shit like that.'' Louis shrugged.  
I snorted. ''Okay then... Who else?'' I stared around the crowded lunch hall, picking out random strangers whom I happened to share a school with now. They seemed an eclectic and varied school group, ageing from eleven up to nineteen. Giggly girls, wearing their personalised, skanky uniforms, boys wandering around with leather jackets on, oblivious to the school policy of uniform at all, the nerds with top button done up, books clutched tight to their chest... I had no idea how I was going to fit in here.   
The only boy so far, in my new school, who'd been friendly or showed any interest in me, was Louis Tomlinson.  
''There's a group of other lads, who happen to be punks, like you. Flynn's little posy of punks get around, you know.'' Louis chanced a glance at the parts of my arms he could see, decorated with intricate, swirling tattoos and ink patterns. I smiled wryly at him. ''They aren't the nicest, but they seem to be the only people I can guess of so far who have something in common with you, mate.''  
I nodded dazingly. ''Cool... any gay guys?'' I asked quickly.   
Louis rolled his eyes, smirking, as he stabbed his fork into his mushy, school lunch-standard pie. ''Apart from me and you? I'm not really sure. There's Cooper, over there-'' Louis motioned toward a spotty, tall, pubescent lad with madly curly hair and dark eyes. ''Well. His real name is Jed, but everybody just calls him Cooper. Then there is... Sheilah, over there, but I'm guessing by gay, you don't mean lesbian... right?''  
I looked at Louis funny. ''No, Louis... no. But besides Cooper...?''  
He shrugged again. ''Nobody I know of. Bisexuals and stuff, but anybody else? Nada.''  
I sighed, staring round the lunch hall again. People looked back in my direction, obviously curious to see the newcomer boy from out of town. I felt like a rare animal in a zoo, getting pointed at and talked about, but nothing to do about it. I scanned the crowd, until my eyes hit on one boy, sitting all alone at the back of the lunch hall, hunched over no food, but his English jotter.  
He may as well be a miniature David Beckham, is all I can say. His brown, shiny hair swept over his head, the sides shaved, his jawline sublime and voluptuous. I could see through his old school shirt he had the abs of a god, too. As a gay guy, I kind of just notice these things first off.   
I'm immediately attracted to him, but there seems to be just something about him that doesn't seem... right, somehow. Spiked. Hidden.  
I frowned. ''Louis? Who's that boy... over there?'' I try my best not to point, but in this throbbing, shoving crowd, it's pretty impossible not to. ''The boy alone.''  
''Oh,'' Louis says softly, a grimace lining his lips. ''That's, uh, Liam. He's, sort of... mute. Has no friends and stuff... everybody wants to help him out, but they just end up getting frustrated with him. Nobody here knows sign language-''  
''I know sign language!'' I pipe up, my heart jumping in speed a little. ''I haven't had a use for it so far; but I couldn't speak till I was five, so I learnt sign,''  
Louis rose his eyebrows, glancing at Liam repetitively. ''Well... if you want to, go ahead. Make friends with him, I don't care-'' he leaned in a little, ''But it is practically social suicide, if you ask me.''  
I shake my head bitterly. I hated it when people described making friends this way. Making friends is making friends, there was nothing suicidal about it. I just wanted to fit in here.   
''Louis, c'mon. I've been to eight high schools alone. Me and my family travel; and if there's one thing I've learnt about making new friends and fitting in, is that there is no such thing as social suicide. You're either social, or you're not,'' I shrug, glaring at Louis. ''You don't have to be stupid to work it out.''  
Louis sighs, glancing somewhat apologetically in Liam's direction. ''I'm just saying... Liam has had... a tricky past. His mother got stabbed.''  
Just as I am about to shovel in my first spoonful of the less than appetising school pie, I lose my appetite. I slam my fork down. ''Are you serious? Is this why he can't talk?''  
Louis nodded grimly. ''He was traumatised at fourteen, poor boy. Used to be so popular as well... his mother was stabbed by his father. He's been given a life sentence for attempted murder, and only lives with his Mum now... people are just a little tentative now, you know, to approach him. No idea what to say, and stuff.''  
I scowl. Surely Louis was better than this-surely our year was, anyway!- to shun a traumatised, needing boy (who, may I mention, has abs to die for) who's lost his voice to his past, along with his father, and now living only with his mother in this shabby, seaside town? Despicable.  
''Right. Well, I'm going to go see him.'' I say boldly.   
''B-but, Zayn, you're meant to hang out with the punks? You know, Flynn and stuff? You don't just, hang out with Liam Payne. You have a reputation, you know!'' Louis tugs at my arm as I stand up to leave, and forces me back down on my seat.  
''Louis, I really don't care about bloody reputation right now. These guys don't even know me!'' I exhasparate, gesturing at the crowd around us, my new school mates. ''How would they conclude a reputation for me already?''  
''Because there were rumours,'' Louis hissed. ''Don't say I didn't warn you. This place is tough.''  
I snatched my arm away from Louis, my dislike for the boy growing by the second. ''I've been in worse places. And anyway, I'm moving away again in a few weeks. Like I said; I and my family travel,''  
Glaring at Louis a last time, I sling my bag on my back, abandoning the measly slice of pie which was my lunch, and stroll over to Liam.   
I stand there, by his near-empty table silently for a few seconds, waiting for him to notice me. He doesn't. I clear my throat, but it gets swallowed up the noise of the crowd around me. Agitated, I just go ahead and take a seat next to him.  
He looks mildly startled, his wide eyes looking into mine. They were a dark, chocolaty colour, warm and lovely. I didn't want to look away from them when I saw them at first, but then I noticed something else behind them; something like hurt, defeat, sadness.  
I clear my throat again, blushing. ''Hey. Are you Liam?''  
It's a stupid question, but Liam nods nonetheless.  
''My friend Louis's told me about you,'' I smile sympathetically at him, where he just stares back. Come to think of it, friend was a bit of a stretch now. ''I'm Zayn, by the way. The new boy.''  
Liam picks up a small notepad, a fancy one, leather cased with a posh pen. No wonder. He must use this equipment so much he needs something good quality and reliable. Poor lad. He writes something down;  
I've heard about you.   
I chuckle warmly. ''Oh right... well, I know you probably get this a lot, but I really am, so so sorry-'' Liam cuts me off with a poisonous glare, telling me straight off, I have heard this so many times before. Don't waste your time.  
But he writes down something different; I just want to forget about it.  
I nod, swallowing. ''Ah. Sorry...'' I smile meekly. ''Uhm, okay. I just wanted you to know, that just because you're mute, doesn't mean you won't have friends. It seems you have that perception; so I thought I'd let you know, that I can sign language.''  
His face lights up, his eyes widening in surprise, a brilliant smile lining his plump lips. My heart skips a beat. I'd never seen such an amazing smile in months.   
He signs me experimentally, but I read it perfectly.  
Really? Nobody I know but my mother can sign.  
I grin, and subconsciously place a hand on his elbow. But he looks down at it, shocked, and then smiles. Again. Relieved, I say,  
''Don't the girls like you? I hear girls have a thing for cute, mute boys like you,'' obviously, I'm making this up, but I feel like Liam would just be so cute to tease like this. I've just met him, though-I should probably back down a little. God. I really am gay.  
I chuckle to myself, as he signs back, none of the girls like me.  
''I bet they do. A good looking guy like you?'' I blush, knowing I should probably just walk away now. God... why am I so careless when it comes to introducing myself? This is how I got alienated back in my other high schools, for being way too enthusiastic and eager with new people. I guess they all expected me to be a grumpy, reserved, emo punk who doesn't say anything, just a normal guy who happens to like leather and tattoos.  
Trust me, though, I am not a normal guy.  
Liam shakes his head, his smile lost and replaced it with a sad frown. He signed, there are better looking boys they are much more interested in.

I consider this for a moment, then decide it's no wonder Liam has such low self-esteem. It's been years since he's been able to talk, and there's been nothing he could do about it since, but sit in silence and wait for people to come to him.  
''Hm... are you interested in girls?'' I ask. He shakes his head, and I raise my eyebrows in pleasant surprise. ''You're gay?''  
Liam bits his lip, an action so hot I feel my heart flutter and my knees weaken. Oh boy.  
Don't know. You?  
Blushing and chuckling like a weirdo, I say, ''Yep. I'm gay... easier said than done,'' I add.  
Liam smiles. Why do you want to be friends with me just because you know sign?

Careful not to freak him out further, ''That isn't the only reason... I just guess a guy like you could do with at least one person who knows where you're coming from.''  
Liam's expression changes oddly, from confusion, to sadness, to charm, and back to confusion.  
He signs: That's kind. But I don't need anyone.  
I clench my jaw, and just as I am about to say more, Liam picks himself up, along with his jotters, and leaves the dining hall soundlessly, overwhelmed by the crowd in seconds.  
I yelp in surprise when I feel a hand slam down onto my shoulder, and look up to see Louis smirking down at me. ''Told you it wouldn't work, mate,''  
I scowl, prizing his hand off my shoulder and standing up. ''He just left, though! For a few minutes, I thought I really had him, you know, as somebody he could trust... agh jeez,'' I bump my head repetitively into the nearest wall, frustrated. ''I'm such a freak.''  
''You're a sexy freak,'' Louis says.  
I turn round and lean on the wall. ''I wish Liam thoughts the same as you... wait... what?''  
Louis smirks even more, and guides me out of the lunch hall, and into the main atrium, a huge, empty space with a huge staircase, big glass windows and doors leading off into separate educational departments. It's almost empty.  
''You'll get used to me... eventually.'' Louis chuckles, a little evilly. ''Just know straight off, I'm a man whore. Okay? I like... guys,'' he shrugs, then winks at me. ''I have a thing for punks, too, you know.''  
''Louis, that is just creepy,'' I say, but I can't help laughing at how camp Louis is. ''But seriously. Do you think I can try again with Liam, just to see?''  
Louis considers, strolling aimlessly round the atrium with my tagging by his side, like a dog on his leash. ''You could try, but know that you are being really ambitious here? Liam is a difficult dude... and you may as well not waste your time. You’re out here in a few weeks anyway, aren't you?''  
''I want to make these few weeks worth it, though,'' I insist, ''I don't want to just mingle with the popular guys and then just leave as if I was never here. I want to leave my mark, yeah?''  
Louis rolled his eyes. ''Man, if you want to leave your mark, go piss on a wall. But if you're really just trying to get inside Liam's pants, go ahead. If you're wanting to change him, though, then... well... think about it, okay? You never know... Liam likes to play games.''  
''And how would you know?'' I seethe, irritated.   
''Because I'm the one who's been at this school four years; not you!''  
''Just give me a chance, at least,''  
''Okay! I don't care! Fuck Liam and change his life; I don't mind, but just...'' he scratches the back of his head. ''Don't... damage him. Okay? He's had enough emotional disturbance to last him a life time... just... promise me? Please?'' Louis sounds desperate here, more serious than I've heard him yet, so I nod dumbly at him.  
''Okay. I promise.''


	3. Chapter 3

Liam’s POV:  
Those eyes. Those set of caramel eyes that seemed to draw you in with every stare. I couldn’t get them out my head for the rest of the day. Everyone who is anyone in this school know that I’m probably the best method to lose social status; everyone ignores me, in fear of becoming ‘less popular’. Bullshit, I know, but I guess that’s a consequence of being mute: everyone becomes tentative and cautious approaching you; they don’t want to stand within a meter of you, like I was carrying some sort of plague.  
I wish. Then I wouldn’t have to suffer through life and I could just die. It’s not like a lot of people are going to notice my absence.   
But him, Zayn, the stupid fool, he came up to me and initiated a conversation, despite the clear warnings he was obviously given by his brown haired friend, Louis. It’s not that I don’t appreciate his selfless actions – well, actually, I’m sure he just wanted to get in my pants – but I just don’t feel comfortable around anyone that isn’t my mum. I’m weird like that. Well, to be fair, I’ve lived half my life secluded from social events and lived idly in the walls of protection I’ve set up, isolating myself from the rest of the world. I don’t think I’m prepared to leave those walls… not just yet.   
It’s not just that - I can’t afford to get close to someone, developing an attachment to someone is very dangerous, it’s inevitable that one day the attachment will get cut off and your heart will smash into pieces. I mean, look at what my Dad did to us. Zayn seems like a nice lad, I don’t want to make him experience the same nightmare I’ve lived.   
Love’s like a promise: Always broken and filled with lies.   
But, damn, those eyes! They’re so hauntingly magnificent and piercing that they have engraved itself into the fragile folds of my mind. Every time I close my eyes, I’m always greeted by those caramel eyes and I seem to just melt on the spot and drift off into peaceful reverie. I’m not one to slack in classes but throughout today, I could not focus; My hands wouldn’t stop shaking and I could still feel the warmth of his touch on my elbow – damn it, I can’t be falling like that.   
Come on, Liam. You know love doesn’t exist. You should know better than that! Remember, I mean, it was your fault your mum got hurt, right?   
Ever since our encounter, my own thoughts have been punishing me, eating me away with the guilt it elicits; however, I know it’s right. It was my fault my Mum got hurt. Even though she’s now okay, I can still hear scream in her dreams, and the sound is so frightening that every inch of comfort and joy in the house is chased away into the darkness of despair, lost and impossible to find. The house itself becomes crestfallen whenever a whimper of sadness escapes my mum’s lips; she’s always been the beacon of light and joy – for everyone – and seeing her upset just makes your heart drop. It’s also a cruel reminder of my selfish behaviour that night: how I did nothing in my power to help her. All I cared about was my own safety. I could have done something!  
What if Zayn’s the same? He already smokes and he probably drinks, too; He’s like my father. What if he hurts me? But on the other hand, he was so gentle and sincere when he spoke to me. He also knows sign language! I mean, someone can finally talk to me without making me feel like some freaky teenager who’s lost his mind.   
I’ve forgotten what it felt like to be treated like a normal teenager. Even my mum has to treat me differently. She would always scold me if I ever left the house without a bag containing my pad of paper and pen, my phone and – I know this is stupid – a rape alarm. Bewdley’s crime and rape rate were one of the lowest in the country, considering it resides by the sea side and its size wouldn’t even be a speck on London.   
Normally, my mum and I would spend the evening together, after school. But, for some reason, she isn’t here. I’ve spent the last hour locked up in my room, reading this novel about a girl, who’s a cancer survivor, meeting this boy in a support group and the rest of the book depicts their story together and how their love for one another blooms. I’ve just reached the part where the boy, Augustus, tells the girl, Hazel, a secret that would lead their relationship into a dark road. I like the story, it’s not like all those other cliché stories in which love overcomes all, this one shows that death rules everything, like a predator: merciless and unexpected.   
I’ve just approached the end of the chapter when the sound of the door opening caught my attention. I placed my bookmark onto the last page and got off my bed. I hadn’t even reached the door when I could hear my mum call for me.  
“Liam!”  
“Coming, Mum,” I called, opening the door and rushing down the stairs.   
I came to halt as soon I reached the bottom. I’m baffled by the scene I’m seeing: There, in her work uniform, was my mum, but that isn’t what’s making me confused, no; it’s the boy with curly hair standing next to her. She came over to me and give me a hug, I didn’t hug back and kept my arms down by my sides, eyeing the boy, still. He was a cute little fellow, though. His hair a mop of curly brown hair, his fringe swept to the right side of his face. He was smiling a beguiling smile at me, flashing me a set of straight, white teeth. I noticed two dimples make an appearance on his cheeks. He was wearing the uniform of the café my mum worked in – blue shirt and black trousers with sensible pair of black shoes – so it’s no mystery he’s working alongside my mother. He was pretty good looking, I must say.   
“His name is Harry,” my mum explained, “He works with me in the café.” The boy, Harry, gave me a wave of his hand but I didn’t return it. His face dropped into a frown and he dropped his hand. “He’s also gay,” my mum added.   
Well, that clears everything up. My dear, and annoying mother was trying to set me up! I turned towards her and saw she was smiling, mischievously. I gave her a stern look and narrowed my eyes at her. She knows that this was my ‘Are you serious’ my face and she gave a huff.   
“Well, yeah, of course I am,” she replied, “You haven’t even given him a chance.” We both looked back at Harry who was now looking at the floor, sheepishly. The sight was quite adorable. “Plus, he’s cute,” my mum whispered for only me to hear.   
The thing is, I don’t even know if I’m gay, straight, bi or what? I mean, I’ve always thought girls were pretty looking and boobs always enticed me, but not a single girl has successfully turned me on, yet. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had a proper conversation with one, but don’t guys wank off to pictures of girls and get turned on by perusing nude pictures? I’ve seen a picture once in my life and in all honesty, I’ve only felt sympathy for the girl: having to deteriorate herself to something of a toy, just to make money.   
And boys have caught my attention, too. I’ve always appreciated a good looking boy but I haven’t really been turned on by one, neither. It’s quite frustrating not knowing what makes your dick twitch in excitement, but then again, my life has never been that simple. In all honesty, I think Zayn was the only person to get me as close to turned on as I could get. I felt my whole body burn from the small distance he created between us; the electric impulses he created from touching my skin. The way his voice would replay itself inside my mind, like a record, and would drive my whole body into a frenzy filled with joy and happiness.   
But that doesn’t mean I’m gay… does it?   
“Liam, you there?” My mum’s voice broke me out of my thoughts. I shook my head and looked at her, like I had no clue what she just said. She gave a sigh at my face. “I said: Why don’t you take Harry upstairs and you guys can get to know each other better?”   
Seriously, any other parent would try to keep their children downstairs, where they can keep a watch on them. Not send them upstairs, alone, where anything could happen – like, what if Harry is a secret rapist?! Seriously, this woman sometimes has no common sense.   
“I’m fine with that,” harry interjected and I turned around to face him, I was taken aback by the sincere smile he had on. “If that’s okay with you, Liam?” he asked, his emerald eyes made me feel like I was in the woods, surrounded by trees and in complete serenity.   
I decided to give it a shot, it’s not like I have anything better to do, anyway. I nodded my head at him and Harry flashed a bright smile. My mum, on the other hand, throw her arms in the air and began screaming a mantra of ‘YES’ and ‘WOOO’. I turned towards her and glared. She immediately stopped when she saw my face.   
“Sorry,” she apologised. I softened my face and began climbing up the stairs, Harry trailing closely behind. As soon as we reached the top of the stairs, we could hear my Mum’s cries of happiness resume in the kitchen. Harry released a captivating little chuckle while I rolled my eyes in exasperation.  
“You have a cool mum, Liam.” Harry complimented but I just turned around and glared at him. His face suddenly faltered and I gave a little smirk.   
That’s right, bow down to the almighty glare!   
I led him into my room, which wasn’t that big. There was a bed and a wardrobe in opposite corners of the room, I had a television planted on the wall, which was painted in red. Unlike most teenage boys, I kept my room tidy; I despised a messy room. Next to my bed was a table which encompassed a couple of my school books and an alarm clock. I went over to my bed and sat down, Harry took the spot next to me.   
“So,” he started, his voice sounding quite awkward, “is it true you’re mute?” he asked.  
I nodded physically, but mentally, I was rolling my eyes. This is why he was being awkward; he felt sympathy for me. I’ve already had enough of people telling me their ‘sorry’ or ‘I feel bad’ because they don’t know what it’s like. This was a punishment for my selfish behaviours and I don’t need other people telling me that because they shouldn’t be trying to make me feel good. That, I don’t deserve.   
“Oh, I’m sor-“  
I cut him off with another glare. He nodded, so I think he understood what I was trying to say. The air became awkward and tensed afterwards. I don’t know what to do because I’ve never been put into a situation like this. I’ve always declined my mother’s offers of talking me out to meet people. To say I’ve become socially scared is an understatement.   
“So, what you want to do?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck. He clearly felt as awkward as I did.   
Good job, Mum. This idea of yours is going great.   
I held my index finger up, gesturing him to wait a second. I got up off of my bed and pulled the drawer open. I fished out a pad of paper and a black ball point pen. I returned to my spot on the bed and began scribbling on the piece of paper:  
I get it, this is really awkward. You don’t have to stay if you want to.  
I watched as he read it, his face changing from smiling to one full of shock and disbelief. “Don’t think that, Liam,” he reprimanded me, his voice sounding a little hoarse, “I’d love to stay. I want to get to know you.”   
I don’t get why though? Why would someone want to get close with a messed up freak like me? I can’t even speak for crying out loud! I picked up the paper and hastily wrote my reply: Why? Can’t you see that I’m probably the worse candidate for a friend? Why do you want to get to know me?   
It took him a little longer to read my response but his face maintained its sincere and concerned expression. After he had read it, he put the paper down and grabbed my hand. I stiffened at the contact and Harry looked like he was going to relent, but he persisted and held on tighter. I wasn’t that accustomed to get all affectionate and endearing with a guy I’ve barely known – I’m only used to this kind of behaviour when it’s with my mum.   
“Because, I know, under that meek and silent demeanour, there is a heart of gold that wants to share the abundance of love it contains. It wants to love, and to get to know people, and to feel loved; it’s wistful for affection and lust. I know you don’t like me, and I’m not that all attracted to you, neither, no offense, you’re hot and everything but… I like them cute and cuddly, not rough and muscly who can probably split me in half if I ever wanted a ride on the ‘payne train’.” He had to stop because I doubled over laughing at the sobriquet he gave me – well, my dick. He, soon, joined me and the awkwardness and tension was chased away by a symphony of mellifluous laughter. His face has returned to that happy and smiley expression I first saw when he came here. And, even though I wouldn’t admit it, I felt like I was no longer lonely; that the thought of having a friend was good.   
Once the laughter had finally died down, Harry gave me another serious look and finished off spiel. “But, seriously, I want to be your friend.” And this time, I felt prepared. When my mum and I were in trouble all those years ago, we had no one to support us, and that’s what I need: support.   
I gave him a firm nod and Harry launched himself at me, tipping us over the bed and on to the floor. His arms wrapped around my waist in a tight embrace and I began laughing again. I pushed him off of me and gave him a light and playful punch on the arm. He faked a hurt expression and I just rolled my eyes at him.  
Great, another drama queen. My mum already fills that role, Harry.   
He got up the floor, chuckling at me, and began wandering around the room, looking at every poster and framed picture I had. There wasn’t much, just a few pictures of the locations I want to visit someday: New York, London, Rome and Los Angeles; I loved hot countries and busy places. I’ve lived enough of my life in silence and want a busy and boisterous location to make me forget about everything. Harry then began scrutinising the shelf of movies I had beside my bed.   
As he was looking for a film he began asking me questions. Nothing major, they were ‘Yes or no’ questions to make it easier for me – and him. I would have shook my head for ‘no’ and nodded for ‘yes’. It was those silly starter questions: ‘Do you like sports?’, ‘Do you like school?’ ‘Do you like burgers?’ and so on. But then he asked me a question and I found myself flummoxed; I didn’t know the answer to it. He asked me if I liked someone… and my mind immediately darted to Zayn.  
Do I like him? I thought, as I could feel Harry’s burning gaze on me. He sensed my hesitation and is now smirking at me, his eyebrows quirked. I mean, he was the first person to ever elicit any excitement inside me. But he’s also very mysterious and dark, but I think that makes him more enticing and delectable. His tattoos are also one of the most beautiful and captivating things I’ve ever witnessed.   
But at the same time, I can’t like him. We’ve only spoken once, and I’m sure all he wants to do is get in my pants. After he’s achieved that, he’d probably dump me like a piece of trash, straight after. He wouldn’t feel any remorse from it.   
But what if it’s genuine?  
But what if it’s not?  
You’re thinking too much?  
No I’m not, I’m trying to protect myself?  
Well, you won’t get anywhere in life if you don’t take risks?  
I began having an internal war with myself. My head was starting to hurt and Harry’s tapping of his foot wasn’t helping. His arms were crossed over too; he was expecting for an answer, a smirk still plastered on his face. I sighed and traipsed over to my bed, where the pad of paper and pen was. I picked it up and scribbled my answer: Maybe.  
Harry perked up. “I knew it!” he exclaimed, jumping on the spot before rushing over me and hugging me. “So, who’s the enigmatic Romeo that’s captivated my new profound friend’s heart?” he asked, giddy.   
I rolled my eyes at him. Promise you won’t tell? I wrote down. Harry quickly nodded with no hesitation and crossed his heart for extra effect. Drama queen, right? I slowly wrote down the name of the guy that’s caused me an endless amount of headaches and showed it to the guy who I barely know but feel like I can trust.   
Harry’s eyes widened in horror. “Zayn!” he yelled, shocked. “But, Liam, isn’t he a punk or something?” he asked. I nodded and raised my eyebrows at him. “Don’t give me that look, I’m just worried he might hurt you.” He informed me.   
My face faltered for a second. He said exactly what I thought of. This was certainly starting to mess my mind up, even more than it already is. Harry turned around and grabbed a film off the shelf.  
“Let’s not think about it, yeah?” he asked. I nodded at him and grabbed the film off his hand. I looked at it and endeavoured to suppress a laugh. I quirked my eyebrows and gave him a sly smirk. “What?! I love ‘Finding Nemo’!” he explained, throwing his hands up in the air.   
I rolled my eyes and proceeded to place the DVD in the DVD player. I turned the TV on and sat beside Harry. His face was full of excitement as the film started to play.   
For a seventeen year old, he sure acts like a child.   
But I couldn’t relax throughout the film. My mind kept wandering back to Zayn and the statement Harry said. It’s feasible for Zayn just to pick me up and throw me away, isn’t it? I mean, was he really sincere and true when he told me he wanted to get to know me, too?   
No, I can’t risk it. I have to keep away from Zayn Malik, no matter what!


	4. Chapter 4

Zayn's POV:

I walk into school with a clumsy gait to my step, an unfortunate symptom of my lack of sleep. I barge past a few younger year students and yell at one of them when they told me to “Watch where I’m going.” I groan as I reach my locker and don’t hesitate to crash my forehead onto it, sighing in exasperation.

 

I’m hardly ever this belligerent, but I didn’t get any sleep last night and now I’m suffering its consequences. Not that it’s my fault I didn’t get any sleep; it is all Liam’s fault. Last night, I kept on thinking about ways I could talk to him again, you know, to gain his trust and stuff. I really want to get to know him. And his ethereal beauty is something you can’t ignore; his face haunts my mind whenever I close my eyes and the image sends me into a state of pure ecstasy, filling every inch of my body with intense pleasure and a craving for his touch.

He seems so reserve when it comes to people and I plan on changing that. I know he’s probably used to living a lonely life, like a recluse, but he doesn’t understand that loneliness is a contributing factor to depression and I really don’t want to see Liam suffering more than he already has. Although he was quite shock to find that I spoke to him, his eyes shined with a feeling of happiness and I saw it; it came to life and became effulgent, and I just wanted to get lost in it.

So, today I plan to talk to him again, during lunch. I want Louis to come along this time and it will hopefully prove to Liam that I’m serious about wanting to get to know him – and to Louis that I really don’t care about popularity and all that high school crap.

I pull out my biology book from my locker and shove it into my bag before closing the locker with a loud slam. A few students around me flinch and give me a weird stare that I just ignore. I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose, shutting my eyes. Just breathe, Zayn. You’re tired and cranky, and you don’t want Liam to see that, he might think you’re a horrible and violent guy. I think before breathing in deeply, opening my eyes as I exhale.

“There you are,” A squeaky voice that belongs to Louis speaks from behind me and I internally groan. “How are you?” He asks as he places his hands on my shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m good mate. How ‘bout you?” I reply, turning around to see him. He’s wearing a denim jacket over a plain white shirt and a pair of brown khaki pants; his hair was its usual swept-to-the-left fringe and a wry smile was plastered on his feminine-like lips.

“Good thanks,” He shrugs. His eyes linger on me for a second before he cocks his head to the side and quirks his eyebrows at me. “So, you’re not even thinking about your crazy idea?”

I return his quizzical expression. “What crazy idea?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“Um, no I don’t.”

“Yes you do!”

“Enlighten me… cause I really have no idea, man.” I retaliate, getting slightly irked up by his childish games.

“About Liam, you idiot!” he says in exasperation, throwing his arms up in the air.

But I still wasn’t seeing why it made the idea ‘crazy’. “And how is that crazy, exactly?” I ask, crossing my arms and looking at him with a flummoxed expression.

“Because it’s Liam we’re talking about; he doesn’t just let random people into his life.” Louis explains dryly – as if it was the most obvious thing ever.

“Well, I’ll make sure I’m not a random person to him. I’ll gain his trust, Louis. Just watch.” I inform him before pushing past his shoulders with an intended amount of force that sends him stumbling back a little.

I hate how Louis just has this arrogant perception about Liam: he makes him seem like a broken toy, not a human. I hate it. Liam deserves to be treated like a human, not some sort of disabled cretin. I quickly look back and see that Louis was ruefully shaking his head and I have to force myself to not go back there and punch him in the face for being so ignorant and insensitive.

I’m not looking where I’m going and as I turn back to face the direction I’m heading in I find myself colliding into someone’s back, hitting my nose on their shoulder. I stumble back a few steps and place a hand on my nose, quickly palpating it to check for a bump or blood. Luckily, there was neither of them present.

As I raise my head I see the person I collided with and my heart skips a beat: it was Liam. He was wearing a concerned expression and his eyes was quickly surveying my face, seeing if he has wounded me. I melt as I intently stare into those earthy eyes, forgetting about the pain that was rapidly intensifying in my nose. Suddenly, his mouth opens and closes and he is frantically blinking, tears pooling in his eyes. I look at him confused for a second before it clicks: he’s trying to ask me if I’m okay and if he’s hurt me, but he can’t talk… duh.

I chuckle before answering his unspoken question: “Don’t worry, mate. I’m completely fine. There’s not a bump nor any bleeding, but you own a pair of strong shoulders there, Liam.”

Liam immediately beams when he hears my statement of reassurance and his frantic state of panic comes to an end. I see a blush creep onto his cheeks as a slight tint of red emerges. He bows his head, embarrassed by what just happened, and I take this time to check him out: He was wearing really light clothes today; a chequered button up shirt fit onto his chest, tightly, showing an outline of his abs and I supress a moan that slyly climbs my throat; and a black pair of jeans sits comfortably on his legs. In conclusion, he looks sexy today.

Then Liam raises his head and flashes a smile, scratching his head – messing up the perfectly styled quiff – before signing: I forgot you know sign language. I’m sorry, by the way, I shouldn’t be standing in the middle of the hallway. Another chain of blushes erupts and I smirk as he avoids my gaze. If only I could hug him right now.

“Why were you standing in the middle of the hallway, anyways?” I ask, curious. I mean, it’s odd for someone to stop dead in the centre of a busy hallway unless they had some sort of incentive.

Liam steals a furtive glance at me before looking at the floor again. My friend told me to wait for him here. He signs and something inside me claws at my chest and I find my hands clenching into tight fists for a quick second. I’m definitely not feeling jealous that he’s let another person into his life but when I ask to, he runs away without giving me an explanation.

“Oh,” Is all I say. I couldn’t find any other words to say. I tell myself that the only reason he hasn’t let me in is because I’m new and he barely knows me. That must be it.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” A soothing, low pitched voice speaks and I look over Liam’s shoulder to see the voice belong to a boy who owns a set of curly hair and a nice smile with beguiling dimples protruding out his cheeks.

Liam turns and beams gleefully at the boy before hugging him. I frown at the sight and I feel something tugging my heart; my breath hitches and all wind is knocked out from me as my stomach ties into knots. I’m definitely not jealous. Nope; not at all. I recite this mantra for the whole duration of, what seemed to be, the interminable hug.

The boy breaks away and his emerald green eyes meet with mine. A smirk edges his lips and anger slowly seeps through my veins. I maintain a placid expression as his eyes gleam with mischief; the little twat is tantalising me.

It’s no problem, Harry. Liam signs and releases a small chuckle that sounds like the bells of heaven ringing in my ears. I forget about the boy, Harry, and smile at him.

“Okay then. Shall we go to English?” Harry asks as he regards Liam sincerely.

Liam nods and the two walk away from me without a goodbye. I feel the venom seeping out my pores as I watch Harry place a hand around Liam’s waist as they endeavour to plough through the bustling crowd of students.

Yep, I’m definitely jealous. I sigh and hang my head. Then I was suddenly being jostled by briskly walking students, trying to get to their lessons. I try to push away all my thoughts as I traipse towards my first lesson: Biology. Staring at the patterned school floor and not looking ahead, in the off-chance I see Liam and Harry again.

I reach the blue door that has “Lab 4” written in gold under then handle and release a sigh. I cling onto my pretence of hope, desperately hoping that lunch will go well; that Liam will finally let me into his life. I imagine a weekend with Liam as I open the door and walk into the biology lab, and all of the sudden, I find myself smiling once more.

*~*

That lesson couldn’t have gone any slower. I, literally, spent the whole hour staring at the clock, nodding my head with each strike of the hand. We were also dissecting a frog and due to my lack of focus I cut my finger; not a deep cut but there was definitely blood, and I don’t make a good acquaintance with blood. Luckily, I got to go to the nurse’s office and ask for a plaster. I took my time getting there and back and managed to waste a good half-an-hour.

Now it’s Lunchtime; now I get to put my plan into action. I walk through the large cafeteria double-doors and see that the whole room is already packed with students. My eyes quickly scans the room and I can’t find Liam anywhere. I leave it, for now, and go to queue up for some food. I stand behind some kid who’s engrossed in a conversation with his friend; they both look enraptured by one another, and I can’t help but wonder why Liam wouldn’t want that – well, didn’t want that, cause he has Harry now.

I gag at the sight of today’s meal: chicken nuggets (which definitely did not encompass chicken meat.) and mashed potato; but, it was the layout of the food that made me want to vomit: it was all mixed together and looked like something a cow would excrete. I look away as the dinner lady put some mash potato onto my plate and my stomach kicked and punched as it made a loud plopping sound.

I pick up my tray and look around the room for Louis; I need him to go talk to Liam. I scan the room once more and my eyes land on him, sitting on a table with a bunch of his friends. I look to the neighbouring table and see the group of punks Louis recommended me to hang out with. The girls all had weird hair that was bright in colour; the boys were all miserable looking and their bodies looked like they were dipped in an inkwell – there were tattoos everywhere. I don’t even have that much tattoos and just because I have tattoos and piercings doesn’t mean I’m a punk. I don’t do it for the look but for the sentimentality each tattoo brings.

I amble towards Louis and place my tray down on the table, making as loud of a sound I can to alert him of my presence. It works and Louis stops speaking to his friend to look at me, his eyes jump in excitement and his smile grows.

“Zayn, my main man!” He exclaims, jumping out his chair and giving me a hug which lingered for an uncomfortable period of time.

“Hi Louis,” I greet with a nod of my head. I look over to his friends – all dressed in cool vintage clothes and dark pair of jeans – and nod to them, too.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” He asks, smiling mischievously. “You know, a blowjob, handjob or a quick fuck, maybe?” he adds, his voice was seductive but serious.

I cringe at his words and force on a smile. “Louis, man, stop it!” I complain, “I’d never want anything sexual from you!”

His smile falters and his friends begin a chorus of laughter and I couldn’t help but slightly chuckle by the little tantrum he throws at his friends; waving his arms around and telling each of them to shut up before giving them each a death glare.

“So what is it you want?” He asks, his voice was now mundane – I think he’s lost all interest in the conversation.

“I need you to come with me to speak to Liam,” I quickly explain, waiting in anticipation for the rolling of the eyes, or the crossing of the arms, or the sarcastic comment he always gives me. But there was none of that.

“Okay,” he states simply and grabs my hand, pulling me towards the table Liam and, unfortunately, Harry sat on.

We approach them and the first thing I notice is the gleam in Harry’s eyes as he realises Louis was coming over. Well, somebody has a crush. I think and surreptitiously chuckle, making sure Louis doesn’t hear it. Liam’s head rises too and he seems baffled by our presence.

“Hey there, guys.” I greet and they both give us a wave of their hand.

“H-h-hi H-Harry,” Louis speaks nervously, he is fiddling with his thumbs and looking down at the boring cafeteria floor, sheepishly.

“Hey there, Lou,” Harry replies with a grin and Louis’ head snaps towards him at the sound of the nickname.

Oh, a mutual crush, I see.

“Hi Liam,” I nod my head at him.

He abruptly returns to eating his meal, ignoring my greeting. My smile drops and I scratch the back of neck; Louis and Harry was watching me and I can feel myself burning up from the awkwardness. Nevertheless, I sit next to Liam and try again.

“So, how are you?” I ask sincerely.

Liam shrugs without even looking at me.

“That’s good,” I state awkwardly.

I look towards Louis and Harry and find them laughing at each other, engrossed in a conversation they were having. Louis was playing with his fringe, twirling it with his little finger and I smirk. That guy was so obvious when he was flirting. I look at Harry’s reaction and find that he is basically undressing Louis with his eyes. Well that escalated quickly…

I return my gaze at Liam and find that he is twiddling with the fork, picking up pieces of food and then dropping them again. It lucid that he was finding this just as awkward as I am. I begin tapping my knees with my fingers as I stare at the blue walls of the cafeteria. It was a big room, definitely, but it was the most boring room in the whole premises: the walls were all blue, the floor was all blue and there are no decorations at all; no posters, no pictures, no paintings, nothing. Just empty walls and a four large windows that overlook the school field.

“Liam, aren’t you hungry?” I ask, desperate for him to sign or write something.

But he remains adamant in ignoring me and continued to play with his food.

That’s it. I think before sighing in exasperation and jumping off my chair. I grab Louis by the collar of his shirt and begin dragging him away from the table. I can’t believe he’s now resorted to ignoring me completely; I have not done anything to upset him and he’s already treating me like I’m some sort of plague carrier.

“Call me, Harry!” Louis yells as I drag him away from his new profound lover. I roll my eyes and continue to drag him until we reach our table.

Louis sits down and I take the seat next to him. I stare at my plate of food and found that I lost all appetite to eat. My mind is now occupied with even more questions I demand Liam to answer. And I insist that one day those questions will be answered.

“Are you alright, mate?” he asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I don’t even have the effort to give a proper response and only nod my head. I see out of my periphery that Louis is not content but relents from pressing the matter any further.

“I warned you…” he quietly whispers that I barely hear it. I know it wasn’t meant to be heard but I did.

Now I feel like a fool, because he did; he warned me and I’m a fool for not listening.


End file.
